Unrest

"To be or not to be– that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And, by opposing, end them. To die, to sleep
No more"
-Shakespeare

Yesterday's thoughts seemed so well intentioned. They were so simple, trite, and elegant in their assertions. But I could not sleep with a clear conscience despite my best attempts to embrace them. It's hard to tell what I believe anymore. I feel as if I've been avoiding poisoned apples for so long that I've cornered myself into starvation. Why not take a bite? The outcome cannot change.

My heart burns for things I know to be fickle against the great stage of time. Love is a poison I would drink gladly, savoring each drop until my candle grow silent. And all the while my mind recoils the slack in its reins, reminding me of things I would rather not know. This is the battle that rages inside the soul I do not believe in. This is the unrest that siphons away my sleep.